


Boners of Bereavement - a two-part short story

by onyxheart



Series: Compendium of Magical Depravity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A fascination for anything orange and thereby representitive of Lily's hair, Body Worship, Bonky the elf loves a good bonk, Could be necrophilia if you squint hard enough, Crack, Crack and Angst, Creepy, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Masturbation, No Boundaries - Freeform, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Orgasm Denial, Other, Polyjuice Potion, Porn With Plot, Potions, Self-Denial, Self-Love, Smut, Stalking, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, slimy dungeon bat masturbates over single sided infatuation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyxheart/pseuds/onyxheart
Summary: Snape's sexual frustration turns into very unethical territory when he discovers something of Lily's that could make his summer holidays very interesting...





	1. Part 1

_July, 1992_

_Slytherin Dungeon, Hogwarts Castle_

 

    Another school year was finally over. This year had been unlike any other in Severus Snape’s time at Hogwarts, both as student and professor. Forget trolls roaming the dungeons, forget Quirrell’s betrayal, forget Slytherin losing the House Cup – something specific to Snape had shattered the earth beneath him, and ignited the beginning of a never-ending series of conflicts, aggression, confusion, and frustration in the hearts of himself and an orphan boy. Lily Evans’ child, Harry, had come to Hogwarts. He knew it was going to happen when he reached the appropriate age, but the love-child having gone from a mere concept to a tangible reality threw his whole world upside down.

    He had loved Lily Evans more than any other human being before or after her. She loved him in her own way, possibly as a sister with a hint of sexual intrigue that she would never have acted upon. When Snape loved, he loved hard, fast, and unyielding. To him, she filled roles inexplicable by pure logic: mother, lover, sister, friend, tormentor, and source of familiar despair. It was clear from an early point that his love was unrequited, but that never tarnished or dimmed his love for her. If anything, it empowered it – the further away from a possibility her love became, the more it fed his obsession. It was a parasitic sort of love, so that the masochistic self-hatred within him let the love-parasite prosper, fattening and gorging itself on the parts of him that had been there before Lily. There was only Lily and darkness left.

    Nothing had cemented this dichotomy further than when it was official that she had begun a relationship with James Potter. Snape tried all he could to maintain contact with the object of his desire. He would follow the little clan around – those boisterous idiots that she had found herself glued to socially – attempting to ingratiate himself with her friends in order to hold onto any fibres of influence upon her. She was his only friend coming into Hogwarts, so it was a matter of survival for him to ensure she did not escape his clammy clutches only to run into the clutches of numerous boys, better off and better looking than him. He could think of nothing to offer her that gave him any advantage over them, so he had to rely on tagging along like a bad smell. He was bullied, abused, denigrated, and humiliated on a daily basis by the obnoxious James Potter, eventually Head Boy and Head Cunt of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Conceited, smug, cocky, and somehow unbelievably attractive to Lily Evans, so much so that she later became Lily Potter as one of her final acts of torment to her old friend.

    Lily’s death was an indescribable blow – an irreparable wound. But, he hated admitting even to himself, the birth of Lily and James’ son came a dangerously close second to Lily’s death insofar as  being the most painful thing to ever affect his fragile ego and unstable emotions. It was a different kind of pain to that of loss – it was the opposite of loss; the addition of further pain. James Potter, the object of his bitter jealousy, had defiled Lily. Snape knew she loved James, but the irrational part of his brain told him it was impossible. No sane human being could love that cruel, peacocking brute – and Lily _was_ sane because she was infallible to him, so something had gone seriously wrong. Maybe she had been under a love potion. Whatever the truth of it, Potter’s filthy manhood had desecrated, repeatedly abused, molested, and befouled Lily’s private parts. The seed of his enemy had sat, cloying and festering inside her until the fetid ooze had started to form an offspring, tainted with the genes of his adversary, and blessed to be half Lily.

    It was the hybrid face of Lily and James – a physical embodiment of their relationship – that presented itself at the sorting feast at the start of that school year. Harry Potter’s countenance was dominated by the naturally overbearing Potter genes, but his eyes were unmistakeably one hundred percent Lily. As Snape had sat at the staff table, a sizeable stone’s throw away from the Gryffindor table where Potter had sat after being sorted, their eyes had met. Lily’s eyes stared back at him and the pit of his stomach seemed to fall through the floor of the Great Hall. His heart hurt, his palms sweated, and his nether regions flushed with a wave of sexual feeling that had not stirred within him since news of her death. Ever since that moment, he could not look at or communicate with Harry without feeling a combined patchwork of emotions: bitter hatred towards James, passion for Lily, mournfulness over her death, and resentment that they had created life together.

    He reflected in that disordered, fractured way one does when waking up, on the various interactions he had with Harry throughout the year. His heart burned whenever he thought of him – like one of his famed potions; all the ingredients of emotion towards Harry, James, and Lily created an anger-lust unique and potent. He found himself, as usual, with a morning erection, although thoughts of Harry turned it into an angry one. Despite nearly a year having passed, he still found it awkward and uncomfortable that an eleven-year-old boy, to whom he had no carnal interest, caused fleeting sexual feeling in him purely because of the eyes of his mother staring back at him. He tried to avoid eye contact with the boy as much as possible, but he sometimes found himself transfixed and would have to save himself by dishing out overly-aggressive punishments or castigating him in the harshest terms he could muster purely out of anger at himself.

    Deciding, as usual, not to entertain the motives of his erection, he got out of his ornate four-poster bed, bedecked with the finest upholstery in Slytherin green. His quarters within the Slytherin Dungeons were not overly spacious, but vastly more extravagantly furnished than the student dormitories nearby. He pulled on his jet-black robes, trying to ignore the obvious tenting that was occurring around his crotch. He felt utterly undeserving of sexual pleasure; every erection he ignored was like a satisfying whip of self-flagellation to his wounded soul. On the few instances during that school year in which he had caved in and masturbated himself to a tearful climax, he had been particularly brutal to Harry the next time he had seen him. Harry became a replacement target for James, who had – even in death – turned Snape into a pathetic cuckold. He could hear James’ voice taunting him every time he came over the ever-unobtainable memories of Lily.

    Snape now strode miserably around the empty Slytherin Common Room, and buckled under the weight of his own self-pity into an armchair by the cold, unlit hearth. He stared blankly, eyes glazing over, at the intricately patterned tiles. Their feminine, cascading flourishes reminded him of the flowing locks of auburn hair that he would never see or touch again. The tumescence in his undergarments was now as solid as humanly imaginable, and he almost considered dealing with it in the comfort of the chilly dungeon, now fully deserted. Students had all returned to their respective homes for the summer holidays since the previous evening. After the unsettling events involving the Philosopher’s Stone, he finally had a good night’s sleep with the responsibility of looking after worried students off his shoulders for the first time in months.

    This was the first morning for a long, long time that he realised he would have no chance of running into Harry Potter. No matter how far and wide he could search the ground of Hogwarts, Lily’s eyes would not be looking back at him until September. In spite of himself, he found himself missing Harry. No, it was not Harry he was missing, he reminded himself, but those two beautiful lamps of sparkling green which just happened to be attached to the body of an impudent brat. Still, September could not come fast enough. He had no desire whatsoever to return to his out of term-time residence, Spinner’s End, now dilapidated from damp and emptiness most of the year. It had been modest, but clean when he was a child. Now it was a musty tomb to the happiness he felt when he and Lily would play as young children. He could not face going there just yet, but nor could he stay at Hogwarts; during the isolation and respite from work, he was bound to find it increasingly difficult to hide his feelings. He did not wish other staff, or even house elves, to see what became of him when Lily’s presence was suddenly stripped of him. That presence was now lying torpid in Privet Drive, feeling equally as miserable about being away from Hogwarts.

    An idea suddenly started to bubble within him. He felt a sharp, nudging impulse to go to Godric’s Hollow. Save breaking down the door of Vernon Dursley’s house to get to Harry, he needed to be as close to Lily as possible right now. He felt her absence so keenly, now that he had accustomed to regular tastes of her emerald gaze fixed upon him, even if it came with the scornful expression of a Potter. Yes, he would go to the house where she lived – ‘and fucked,’ added the voice of James in his head. Anger only propelled him further.

    Only just noticing an elderly house elf busying himself in the corner of the common room, ears bristling with a thicket of grey hair, Snape quickly wrestled with his robes, hoping his modesty was not compromised. He thumped his still raging stiffy with his fist, hoping to beat it down in submission, but it just sprung back defiantly. He settled for an awkward body position on the armchair, which gave him enough space lower down to disguise the presence of the offending protuberance. He called the elf over sternly, determined not to stand up.

    “What can Bonky do for the professor, sir?” The elf, diminutive even for his kind, spoke with a delightful croak. Snape was not sure, but he thought he saw the elf’s eyes settle for a split second on his crotch. He had asked a house elf to perform fellatio on him once when he was a student, but only because she had fuzzy auburn tufts of hair that reminded him marginally of Lily. His drift into elf sex was purely a replacement for Lily; this battered old, warty, bespectacled fossil was not getting his arthritic paws on his flesh-wand.

    “Send my things ahead of me to my home address; I will be taking a detour home.”

    “Y-yes, of course, sir. Anything you need, sir…” the elf said, slightly less chirpy than before,  hobbling up the stairs towards Snape’s quarters.

 

* * *

 

_Godric’s Hollow_

 

    It was a clear, balmy night in Godric’s Hollow. Potter Cottage stood like a preserved shipwreck in a sea of normal village life. The house lay ruined, with large chunks of the building missing, and a lawn – once pristine and embedded with Lily’s favourite garden flowers – now overgrown with grass and weeds. There was a loud ‘ _pop_!’ outside the padlocked gate, like the crack of a whip. A pallid, hook-nosed visitor had just Apparated on the pavement outside.

    Snape rested against the gate, his elbows upon it, propping up a face anguished with regret and pain. He looked up at the disastrous aftermath of Lord Voldemort’s assault on the Potter family and wept.

    “Lily…” he whispered, its weak sound dissipating into nothingness as his shoulders shook silently with grief. He stared tearfully at the house, once full of the hopes and dreams of a beautiful young mother, now bereft of any signs of human activity. It was real, palpable proof of her downfall, her suffering, her lack of existence.

    “ _Alohomora_ ,” he muttered, with a flick of his wand. The gate creaked inwards from the weight of his body, and he began to wade through the forest that once was a neatly paved pathway to the front door.

    There was no front door to unlock; its remains had settled as splintered fragments of wood on the exposed threshold to the inside ever since the Dark Lord had forced his way into the safety of the Potters’ home. His robes kicked up huge clouds of dust as he glided through the hallway, batting through cobwebs to get to the staircase.

    He was not sure at first which was Lily’s room. He walked tentatively around the top floor, noticing a whole bedroom missing. Where a door once led to a comfortable little nursery, there was now a sheer drop to the garden below, wooden floorboards and brick all jutting out as a stark testament to the fight that had occurred there years prior. ‘This must’ve been Harry’s room,’ Snape surmised, peering over the verge of the doorway into the void. ‘This is where Lily died. Her limp body probably splayed on the ground below after the floor caved in.’ Why did he think it was a good idea to come here? He felt nothing but despair. No catharsis. He had told Voldemort of the prophesy – it was his fault that Harry was considered a target, and Lily died protecting him. Tears rolled down his cheeks and fell into the abyss below.

    He turned around to leave, mentally flogging himself for deciding to come. He saw out of the corner of his eye a room seemingly not destroyed. He could see through the open door that, despite layers of dust and grime, there was still furniture intact. He approached the threshold and knew instantly that it was Lily’s bedroom. Some of the items were clearly Potter’s (Quidditch figurines and car memorabilia) but the room had Lily stamped all over it. It was decorated in the familiar burnt reds and oranges which she had in her childhood bedroom, that must have complimented her hair perfectly. Trinkets, clothes, and coins lay scattered about, probably due to vagrant animals who occasionally came foraging. The weather-beaten bed still showed signs of past human activity: there was a discernible dip where two bodies once spent their nights. The right bedside table contained a once beautifully filigreed music box, probably rusted shut. This must have been the side on which Lily slept, laying out her delicate tresses and spinning all kinds of tales in her head as she dreamt. The memory soon turned sour when he imagined what physical acts the married couple got up to – here was the scene of the crime, the crime of defilement.

    Trying to cast that image out of his mind, he went to tentatively pull open the top drawer of her bedside table. After years exposed to the elements, the external wood was warped, chipped, and decaying so the drawer would not yield easily. He felt disrespectful being heavy-handed with the property which, to him (and the Magical World as a whole), was considered a snapshot of a historically significant moment in time. He gave the handle a firm yank and it finally came free. Inside were all kinds of everyday things one might expect, except these were owned by Lily. A mirror, photos, a hairbrush, a book on rearing magical children – all things she would never use again. After perusing its contents, feeling like an awful person, voyeuristically peering into the private contents of his dead love’s beside drawer, his eyes darted to something. A tiny flash of reddish gold; there was still some of her hair entangled in the brush. Copious strands, in fact, perfectly preserved from the wind and rain by its perpetual encasement. Snape’s mind went into overdrive; this is why he came. He had no knowledge that he would find specifically Lily’s hair, but he had an inexplicable feeling that something there would bring him close to her corporeal state, bringing her briefly into a state of physical being. He carefully placed a protective charm around the brush and its precious contents, before exiting the house in the blink of an eye and a swish of his robes.

 

* * *

 

 

_Spinner’s End, Cokeworth_

 

    In Cokeworth, the air was not balmy, nor the sky clear. Snape Disapparated from the quaint village to this grey, industrial town where he and Lily grew up. His home in Spinner’s End was a dingy, dismal abode that he always avoided returning to. Hogwarts was and always would be his home. Despite having accrued a decent sum of money from his professor’s wage, he could not bring himself to move out of this home. It was run down and squalid, but it was familiar, and it carried memories that held way more value to him than a more expensive place. His luggage had not arrived yet, so in his tunnel-visioned state he headed straight for his potions room up the stairs and to the rear of the house.

    What once had been his parents’ master bedroom, had been converted to a room that any potioneer would envy. Instead of giving himself the larger bedroom after this parents’ death, he continued to sleep in the smaller room and dedicate the largest room in the house to his craft. The walls, wallpaper peeling from damp and years of reactive vapours, were lined with shelves and cabinets, glass jars of all shapes and sizes contained a plethora of magical ingredients. He set to gathering ingredients: fluxweed, bundles of knotgrass, four leeches, lacewing flies, boomslang skin, and bicorn horn. He lit a flame under his copper cauldron, and beavered away on autopilot, starting the twenty-one-day process of stewing the lacewing flies before a fresh batch of Polyjuice Potion can be made. He set this process in motion with the prudent assumption that he would need more than two vials of pre-made potion he had already in his possession.

    After he was satisfied with the lacewing flies, stewing away with a faint murmuring in the background, he took the hairbrush from his robes. He removed the protective charm and began meticulously removing every single strand of hair onto a clean preparation board in front of him. Every heartbeat in his chest was like a swing of the troll’s club on the dungeon floor. It pounded the blood through his body with great force, as he tried to wrap his head around actually touching her russet strands, once attached to her living, breathing head. As he tentatively pulled the last few strands out, he tried to recall if he had ever touched her hair while she was alive. He was not sure – maybe accidentally when they played as children, but nothing ever as intimate as this.

    He fetched a small vial of pre-made Polyjuice Potion from his stores and stood staring at the reddish clump, reflecting gold in the weak sunlight that made it through the grimy window. He was not sure if this would even work; for hair to work, it must be harvested from the individual while alive. Lily was alive when she brushed her hair, presumably, but now the subject was dead would the potion recognise that?

    Taking a small scalpel, he cut off a section of one strand of hair, careful not to waste a single shred of her material, and put the rest of the fiery bundle into a protective sterile jar. He plopped the sample into the vial – the base potion always looks like thick mud, and adapts to the human material into a brew of unique taste and hue. He waited with bated breath, pleading for it to change colour. Seconds seemed to expand beyond the possibilities of time and perception. Surely five minutes had passed, surely an hour. It was, in reality, a fraction of a second before the potion shifted colour and texture to a watery reddish-purple.

    Eyes popping with elation, Snape knocked the whole vial back without a second thought. He just caught the taste of candied orange while it barely touched the sides, and slipped down his throat and beyond.

    “What in Merlin’s name am I doing?” Snape muttered to himself. All consideration for ethical potion making, and respecting the memory of his beloved had gone out of the window in his blinkered eagerness to see her again. Now it was too late to go back, as he began to feel the familiar rippling sensation of his body starting to transform…

 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of the two-part short story, 'Boners of Bereavement'.

    ‘Surely not,’ Severus Snape muttered to himself. Although, it was not his usual sonorous, _basso profondo_ voice; it was as stark a contrast as humanly imaginable. A soft-featured female voice had escaped from his mouth. But it was no longer _his_ mouth. Snape had taken on the appearance of a nubile, voluptuous witch, he – or _she_ had the face and body of Lily Potter, but the expression and posture was all Snape’s. His knit brows and intimidating stance seemed even more exaggerated now that it came through the medium of Lily’s delicate, womanly form.

    Snape’s legs turned to jelly as he shifted his gaze slowly down his body. He hardly needed to look; he could already feel his robes had loosened drastically, but the chest area had instead filled out with a pair of breasts. He found his posture altered instantly to accommodate this new balance of weight distribution. He was now acutely aware that, a once hefty appendage and set of testicles that used to sit awkwardly hanging between his thighs had descended and disappeared up inside his body during the transformation. He felt the light and airy sensation of empty space where a neat little vagina now sat. Possibly most notable to any flies on the wall, he had shrunk by at least half a foot, and sprouted a mass of shoulder length, wavy red hair.

    Hands trembling and legs almost buckling under him, he stood transfixed on the spot where he had just knocked back a vial of Polyjuice Potion. He was not sure if it would be successful, taking a strand of dead Lily’s hair, but he was now living proof that it was possible. He had uncovered some arcane knowledge – a way of temporarily bypassing the death state. The soul was gone, long separated from the corporeal body, but that body could be reanimated from darkness and decay to a living and breathing clone of the original, through the soul of the host. Snape, the host of Lily’s heavenly body, was amazed, mystified, and fearful at what he had done.

    The bones in his feet felt like they had turned to lead, wading through treacle as he finally allowed his quaking limbs to take him on a pathway to the nearest mirror. He closed his eyes as he entered the bathroom, walls caked with a splattering of damp and mould. There was an old, copper-framed mirror – grubby and encrusted with the patinaed rust from decades of exposure to moist air. It hung slightly askew over a chipped porcelain sink, which Snape lent upon, propping up his now much lighter body. His face was scrunched up in anguish, both from fear and excitement at the reflection that might greet him.

    Snape let out an audible gasp, followed by high-pitched squeak quite fitting of his new feminine visage. He could not believe his eyes – the dirty, mottled reflection of Lily’s face met his eyes. Obscured by the grime, he touched his face with his newly dainty hands to make sure the imperfections were only from the surface of the mirror. His greasy, stubbled texture had become that of a silky, smooth, unblemished canvas. Thank Merlin she is as she was, not like in death, he thought, shuddering at the mental image of what could have been her grey, zombified skin.

    Gradually, a most depraved idea began to formulate in his mind. He was torn between anguish, wishing to respect the memory of his long-departed love, and intense lust now that her body was his to control and touch at his will. He pined so badly to feel the shape of her naked body beneath his bedraggled robes. He thought he even detected a sweet scent, her natural body odour, which was so delicious and different to his usual pungent musk. He was overcome by the feminine aroma, the feel of her weighty breasts now over his racing heart, and the sensation of her sensitive skin as his finger caressed her rosy lips. He felt an overwhelming wave of horniness that had the peculiar sensation of all the blood rushing to his loins, but instead of sporting an erection, he felt his new quivering quim flush with desire. Female arousal was so unbelievably strange to him; instead of feeling like he might explode his seed at any moment, now his pulsating sheath craved touch and insertion of something, warm, throbbing, and phallic. He thought, incredibly, how he now craved his own turgid phallus to be inside himself, and was disgusted self-pityingly at the lengths of depravity he had gone to in his constant, shameful lasciviousness.

    ‘ _Scourgify_! _Differrugo_!’ Snape incantated and the grimy mirror sparkled as the rust and dirt disappeared. The setting sun cast a warm glow on the now spotless surface of the glass.

    The form of Lily Potter removed the heavy object from its hook on the wall, and brought it downstairs to rest on the end of his cleanest, less vermin-bitten sofa. He tore off his robes in a frenzy, dropping them in a pile at his feet, causing several spiders to scatter from under the sofa. He laid himself down so that the mirror was perched between his spread-eagled legs, and he had a whole frontal view of Lily’s naked body. He could see from her cunt, up to the milky mounds of her breasts, and his own – _her own_ – libidinous expression. Her pretty, red-fuzzed pussy was so close to the mirror, he was surprised the moisture and heat that he felt in that area did not cause the glass to mist up. He laid for a moment just staring at the puffy flesh-slot, the cause of so much pain and desire throughout his adult life. This seemingly innocuous body passage had been the subject of so many wet dreams, had been broken and defiled by James Potter, and had even been the place through which the urchin Harry had taken his first breaths.

    Now it would be defiled once more, posthumously, with the misguided, intemperate love of a Snape. He watched his own reflection rub his pink, erect nipples in circular motions while his lower half writhed in pleasure, craving some attention of its own. It was almost painful – so he had no choice but to follow his clammy hands down to settle on his unbearably engorged clitoris. His fingers, wetted by his gasping mouth, rubbed the tingling button and ecstasy was upon him.

    BANG!

    The front door opened wide, but the situation had made the intrusion seem deafening in its being so unexpected. In reality, the door had opened normally, bringing in a sharp gust of warm, summer breeze. The whoosh of air caused the curly, pubic strands around Snape’s lower lips to flutter. There on the threshold, stood Bonky the house-elf, his eyes wide and transfixed on the spot where a naked woman’s finger had just been rubbing a swollen flesh-bean. Upon Bonky’s appearance, the woman had screamed in fright and snatched frantically at the robes on the floor and covered herself as best she could.

    ‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF SLYTHERIN’S GHOST ARE YOU DOING?’ screamed the red-haired beauty. It was a hoarse scream of terror, which seemed completely unnatural coming from someone who looked so pure and kindly.

    ‘M-Miss, Bonky is so sorry … Bonky was not knowing that M-Master, P-Professor Snape had a lady visitor,’ Bonky stammered, backing slowly away from the threshold. Snape’s trunks were levitating behind the elf outside. ‘Bonky was sent to return sir’s things safely to his house.’

    ‘Well, leave them here and be gone!’ The house-elf magically manoeuvred the floating luggage to a place near the hearth, and set them down neatly, though his eyes never strayed once from the woman’s face.

    ‘Stop staring at me, elf! You’ve done your job, now unfortunately I’m going to have to … OBLIVIA-‘ Snape could not finish his memory charm before the elf wandlessly deflected the charm with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

    ‘Miss will kindly not Obliviate Bonky,’ said the elf, plainly, ‘if it pleases her. It is an insult to elves, Miss, when we are being thought indiscreet.’

    ‘What on earth … why would I … for what exactly do you think I require your discretion? So, a lady is caught in an innocent act of self-love. Hardly a scandal is it? Now, GET OUT!’

    Bonky did not move. He stood in defiance, and smiled calmly.

    ‘OBLIV-‘

    ‘I TOLD YOU, NO!’ Bonky squeaked loudly, the flick of his wrist less nonchalant, and more determined this time.

    ‘What do you want from me?’ the red-haired woman asked agitatedly. Her lip curled in identical fashion to the Potions professor he knew so well.

    ‘Do not try to Obliviate Bonky again, sir.’ His face fell when he realised his mistake. He had given away his suspicion.

    ‘Sir? How _dare_ you!’ The woman was now seething with fury, clutching the robes tightly to her shaking frame.

    ‘Bonky knows you is the Professor, sir. Does sir think he is the first person to use Polyjuice to do rubbings in front of a mirror? No, no, no … Bonky sees a lot in his long time at Hogwarts, sir. But Bonky must say, he doesn’t think he has ever saw nobody Polyjuice a dead person for rubbing themselves, no … very clever, sir!’

    ‘How do you know … who I am?’

    ‘Bonky not know Lily Potter? After I clean her dormitory all the years she was in Gryffindor Tower, sir? I thinks you might need to see Madam Pomfrey, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.’

    ‘I’m perfectly fine, you nosey, insolent elf,’ said Snape, looking everything but fine clutching his dusty robes to a dead woman’s naked body.

    ‘Every elfish bloodline is known for certain traits, sir. Myself and my fore-elves are very curious creatures.’

    ‘Curiosity does not keep you still here, Bonky, it’s pure impudence.’

    ‘Bonky does not mean to be … _impooding_ … sir, but there are ways for Bonky to assist him at Hogwarts. Bonky will always be discreet, and will help sir to manage his urges and make him happy.’

    ‘I don’t need your help. I need you to leave me in peace.’ Snape’s libido was thoroughly dampened after this embarrassing affair. He hated himself for what he had done, and seriously considered killing the elf and maybe himself. Almost as soon as he had put his robes properly back on, he felt his body start to transform back to his pallid, masculine form. His hair shrank back to black, greasy curtains, his body seemed to ooze oils, and his genitals sprung back in the place where he had just a few moments ago felt like he was on the brink of a clitoral orgasm.

    ‘Welcome back, sir. Now let me say before going – Polyjuice _does_ work on elves, sir.’

    ‘And why should that interest me?’

    ‘As part of your secret therapy, sir, Bonky can transform into Lily Potter. Bonky has not been a secret Polyjuice fuck slave for a while, sir.’

    ‘You have transformed for this purpose before? Not for a student, Bonky? That’s sick.’

    ‘No, no, sir … Professor Kettleburn, sir. You know he had lost most of his limbs before he retired, but his penis was a limb enough to cover the others. He had a big appetite to match the penis, so Bonky was happy to be given a special task of keeping his stickles empty.’

    ‘Testicles, you mean?’

    ‘Yes, sir, stickles!’ he squeaked excitedly. ‘Bonky is proud of making sir’s stickles always empty! Bonky would Polyjuice for whatever mood Professor was in, and so happy to do it. So Bonky is going to let sir do what he wants to Miss Lily. Bonky is good at the sex, Professor Snape will see!’

    ‘I … I don’t know. I only have a few strands of hair. Maybe I should just keep them safe and forget this whole idea,’ he said grimly. He was finding it hard to convince himself to give up on the chance at further love making. While disgusted and appalled, it was also the most pleasure he had ever allowed himself to experience. It was proving increasingly difficult to let go.

    ‘Duplicate the hairs, sir. You will have a never ending lot of hairs to Polyjuice every day if you wish!’

    ‘I don’t think “ _Geminio_ ” will work. All copies eventually break down; they would be completely useless for Polyjuicing after some time.’

    ‘Elf magic does not have these limits, sir,’ Bonky squeaked, beaming with confidence. The elf summoned the few hairs from the upstairs room, and with a click of his fingers, they duplicated so fast in his knobbly hands that hundreds of red, silky strands cascaded through his fingers. It was not long before a mound of Lily’s hair had grown on the faded carpet, which could easily have been mistaken for a curled-up ginger cat. Soon it was level with the sofa, looking like a huge hairy pouffe.

    ‘Okay, I think that’s enough, Bonky,’ said Snape, in quiet shock.

    ‘So, shall I come to sir’s bed on the first night back to Hogwarts?’ Bonky smiled expectantly.

    ‘Yes. Now get out.’

    Bonky grinned, baring his pointy brown teeth in glee, and Disapparated with a subtle ‘pop!’.

    September was going to be very interesting. Harry Potter would return to Hogwarts, unaware that his dead mother – with the mind of an elderly house-elf – would be getting pounded every night in the dungeons.

 

* * *

 

_September, 1992_

_Slytherin Dungeon, Hogwarts Castle_

 

    Bonky had just entered Snape’s bedchamber, as a naked Lily Potter. The elf seemed very pleased with himself, staring down at his now human, feminine physique. He jiggled his breasts and chuckled girlishly.

    ‘Wow, Lily! You’re even more beautiful in person than …’

    ‘Than in the mirror, sir?’

    ‘Don’t call me sir! If you’re going to be a creep about this the whole time, I’m not doing it!’

    ‘Okay, okay! It is very hard but Bonk- … L-Lily will try!’

    ‘I thought you said you were good at this?’ Snape sighed, starting to regret his decision.

    ‘I am good at sex, yes!’

    ‘Well, just keep your mouth shut then. You’re taking me out of the fantasy for the love of Merlin.’

    Bonky dived onto the bed and silently beckoned Snape to join him. He ran his slender fingers down his body seductively, as he was joined by the timid professor.

    ‘Kiss me, Lily,’ whispered Snape, staring into her mesmerizing, green eyes. The elf obeyed silently, and for a while they were wrapped in each other’s arms, mouth on mouth.

    Bonky kept his new pair of eyes locked firmly on Snape’s beetle blacks. He did not want to make any wrong move which would jeopardize their new, exciting arrangement. If he could avoid his own vernacular coming out through Lily’s voice, the professor would hopefully get lost in the moment and let him continue to pleasure him.

    Lily’s bold, experienced hand found its way to Snape’s stiff appendage. The unfolding confidence shown by her, a testament to the elf’s self-aware sexual experience and keenness, seemed to hit the professor in just the right way. Forever the cuckold, the outcast, the impotent and undesirable – Lily taking a strong lead and seemingly wanting every inch of his body now was a huge turn on.

    ‘Do what you want with me, Lily,’ he moaned. The elf continued to rub his penis so enthusiastically that he almost prematurely reached climax.

    ‘No! Slow down … I don’t want to … not just yet,’ he said, a tinge of blush rising to his sallow cheeks.

    ‘Inside,’ said Bonky, in a high-pitched croak. It was all he could muster to say, lest it be taken as un-Lilyish.

    ‘Say my name, Lily. Ask me, tell me you want me inside you.’

    ‘S-Severus …. Severus, please,’ pleaded Bonky. ‘Inside me, Severus.’

    So the Potions professor entered that innocuous body passage which had so evaded him, and after a few minutes of powerful thrusting, he was nearly at the peak of orgasm.

    ‘Yes, yes, Severus! Empty your stickles in me!’ screamed Bonky delightfully.

    ‘FOR FUCK SAKE, ELF!’ Snape bellowed, as his self-made potion of cum shot out against his will, deep inside Lily Potter. He had cum at the precise moment his fantasy came crashing around him, when the elf used that stupid word.

    ‘I’m sorry, Severus, sir! I will get better, please give me a chance,’ Bonky cried, his tears streaming down Lily’s sad face. Snape knew it was a mirage, but he could not help but wince at seeing her upset.

    ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘You did a pretty good job up until then. We have enough hair to last us a lifetime, my dear. You will be a natural soon – just please try to practise talking like a young woman, will you?’

    ‘Oh, yes! Bonky will practise every day, sir! Thank you, thank you! But now Bonky should return to the kitchens before the other elves think he is shirking duties, sir.’

    ‘Yes, go,’ he said. ‘Let me give you the antidote to make you transform back instantly. It would not go unnoticed if Lily Potter was seen leaving the dungeons and returning to work in the kitchens.’

    The elf unflasked a small vial of grey, shimmering liquid, gulped it down in one.

    ‘Same time tomorrow, Bonky.’

    ‘Yes, sir, Bonky will look forward to it,’ said the elf with a wave, and Disapparated.

    Snape already missed Lily’s presence and required all the motivation he could find to return to his book, _Coitus Magicus: Spells, Charms, and Potions for Enhancing Sex_ by Jill Frigg, which he had ordered from Flourish and Blotts. He desperately hoped he would never have to look one of the shopkeepers in the eye again.

 

* * *

 

_November, 1992_

_Kitchens, Hogwarts Castle_

 

    Weeks had passed, full of daily trysts with Bonky. Over time the elf had really improved, so much so that Snape found it difficult to come back to reality and accept the real Lily would not be waiting for him on any given night. Even Snape had developed new sexual skills, confidence, and uncovered kinks he had never explored on his own. They had becoming increasingly adventurous, and reckless, with where they did the deed; they had fucked all over the castle – in the Forbidden Forest, in his study, in abandoned classrooms, and they had even booked a room in the Three Broomsticks one night for a romantic evening.

    Now they were meeting in the kitchens. Bonky’s absences had not gone unnoticed amongst the Hogwarts house-elves; the Head Elf, Bulgy, had remonstrated several times that Bonky needed to stop going off on irrelevant adventures and neglecting his duties to the school.

    ‘But Bonky is doing many duties that you know not!’ Bonky had replied on the last occasion.

    ‘Are they secret duties for Master Dumbledore, Bonky?’

    ‘No, but … ‘

    ‘Then Bonky will stay in the kitchens unless Master Dumbledore needs him to leave.’

    Bonky had appeared at Snape’s bedside later that night, crying so loud he not only woke up Snape, but probably the student dormitories as well.

    ‘Bonky, what on earth … it’s 3 a.m.,’ Snape had muttered sleepily. Something green had just caught his eye, protruding from the back of the elf’s grubby loincloth. ‘What is that sticking out the back of-‘

    ‘WAAAAAAAAH!’ the elf cried, ‘BONKY HAS BEEN TOLD HE CANNOT LEAVE THE KITCHENS. Bonky had to punish himself so he could come to sir and tell him to only meet him in the kitchens from now on. Bonky had to put a courgette up his bum to punish himself, sir.’

    ‘That doesn’t seem like much of a punishment for you, Bonky,’ he said, patting the elf’s bald, liver-spotted head. He was repulsed by him, but had grown to care for the elf and what he was doing to please him.

    ‘No, sir, but Bonky rubbed the end with a paste of the hottest chillies he could find in the kitchens.’

    ‘Take that spicy courgette out of your arsehole right now, Bonky! Take it out and go back to your kitchens. I’ll come to you there tomorrow night and we’ll do it in one of the spacious food cupboards.’

    ‘Thank you, sir,’ Bonky sniffed.

    So, Snape had come to the kitchens to sexually gratify himself once more with the help of the aged elf. As he entered, having tickled the pear on a painting of a bowl of fruit, elves scrambled to greet him, carrying plates of food towards him, and scrub the already spotless surfaces.

    ‘Professor Snape, sir! We are sorry it is a mess for you, sir! We did not know you would be coming,’ said Bulgy with a pompous air of authority.

    ‘No matter, get back to your business, elves. I am here to have an audience with … Bonky, I believe the elf is called,’ Snape said indifferently.

    Bulgy eyed him suspiciously and seemed unsure whether to challenge what seemed to be another opportunity for Bonky to avoid working.

    ‘Well what are you standing there for, elf? Fetch him!’

    But Bulgy did not need to fetch him. Bonky came sheepishly from an adjacent room and beckoned him to follow.

    ‘Come, sir, we can talk privates in Pantry A.’

    ‘Talk _in private_ , elf,’ snapped Snape, glaring.

    They entered the chilly, spacious pantry and made the necessary transformation. Snape muttered several incantations to keep the elves out of the pantry they were in and got to work on undressing Lily. She was on her back, legs spread and pining for him to enter her, already rubbing her clit to moisten herself for his blissful insertion. He loved to make her wait for it, now he knew how much she enjoyed his penis, not Potter’s.

    ‘ _Tremulo labium_!’ he cried, trying one of Jill Frigg’s sexual spells. As a blue light emitted from his wand, he saw it cause numerous involuntary spasms in Lily’s flushing pussy lips, causing her to moan and shriek. He went down to taste the wetness it had produced, and she moaned some more, holding his head down there and gently stroking his greasy hair. Pure ecstasy was etched on her face as he looked up at her and rhythmically battered her throbbing clit with his tongue. An almost silent creak of the door went unnoticed by either party as they enjoyed themselves.

    ‘Good evening, Severus … Lily,’ said a soft voice behind them.

    The tall frame of Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, seemingly gigantic from Snape’s viewpoint on the dusty floor.

    ‘I think you should both follow me to my office, before you get any body fluids on Professor Sprout’s prized root vegetables.’

    Bonky downed the antidote as he had countless times already, and followed behind the two humans, shifting his loincloth around where he had just had a vagina.

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts Castle_

 

    ‘Well, well, Severus, you continue to surprise me,’ said Dumbledore with a combination of amusement and sternness. ‘I knew you were capable of love, but to see it with my very own eyes is rather illuminating … and disturbing.’

    ‘Albus, nothing you can say … no disgusted expression or remark can ever be more extreme than I have already felt for myself. Do not be under the impression that I am proud of it – I would surrender myself now, and ask you to kill me or send me to Azkaban if I did not know you well enough to think it impossible.’

    ‘You are quite right, Severus. Not only would I never think of it, but there is no basis for which to send you to Azkaban. As far as I’m aware – and let us admit, for sake of argument, I am generally very aware of most things – there exists no Wizarding law against posthumous bodily rape by the use of Polyjuice Potion.’

    ‘How can that be? It should be, I know it should.’

    ‘Well, quite. There are of course many guidelines and laws in place, which as a master potioneer you are already familiar with, with regard to the use of Polyjuice Potion. These edicts, however, cover the framework of acquiring consent from the Polyjuice target … alive. Consent is inferred from verbal or written permission of the individual, which assumes they are alive and able to do so. You seem to be one of the first, if not the first, person desperate enough to go to such lengths.’

    ‘But how did you know?’

    ‘Bonky here is required to serve his master, by the house-elves own, still vastly under-researched codes of conduct. As Headmaster, I am his reluctant master.’

    ‘Oh, Severus, sir. Bonky was tricked!’ said the elf, sobbing into his dirty loincloth. ‘Forgive Bonky!’

    ‘No, Bonky dear. Not tricked,’ corrected Dumbledore. ‘As you know, your supervisor, Bulgy, has been displeased with your work ethic since school resumed. As part of his role, he is required to report to the Headmaster any issues amongst the elves, and he shared this with me. Though I am an incredibly busy man, I found time to occasionally keep an eye on you. Though I found nothing untoward, I did notice you spending a lot of time going to clean the Slytherin Dungeons, and never the other house common rooms. I did wonder what was attracting you there.’

    ‘Master Snape’s love!’

    ‘That is not love, dear elf. Anyway, Bulgy was still adamant that something was happening with Bonky, so I summoned him. Didn’t I, Bonky?’

    ‘Y-Yes, master.’ Dumbledore handed him a tissue and Fawkes let out a calming squawk from an adjacent antechamber.

    ‘I said to Bonky: as your master, I command you to tell me a comprehensive account of everything you have done in the last twenty-four hours. Well, of course, he broke down. By the law of his kind he was compelled to tell me the secret duties you have given him, Severus. Do not blame the elf for your taking advantage of him to satisfy yourself.’

    ‘Taking advantage, Albus?’ Snape piped up, enraged. ‘That elf seduced me! He has been eyeing me up for years, and suddenly I was trapped into the arrangement because of what he had seen me do with the Polyjuice.’

    ‘Oh, Severus, are you really that easy to seduce? Bonky and his ancestors have all served this noble school since its founding, and every one of them are known for having the sex drive of an erumpent in heat, and the wiles of a niffler.’

    ‘You love to shame me for things I cannot take back, Albus.’

    ‘Oh no, no … please do not think I am a prude, Severus. I would be glad to know you are partaking in healthy, sexual endeavours. It is good for the soul …’

    ‘And the stickles!’ interjected Bonky.

    ‘… but you must never, ever, think of using Polyjuice Potion to get to that end. What if poor Harry had seen his mother, long dead, being defiled by his teacher who treats him with constant derision?’

    ‘You do not have to explain how utterly debased I have acted, Headmaster. But really, how would you feel if I said I have some material from young Grindelwald which you could use to transform? Don’t tell me you would not be tempted.’

    For a moment, a glint of fear flashed across Dumbledore’s pale blue eyes. He was clearly engaged in some internal struggle.

    ‘Surely I would be tempted,’ he said gravely. ‘I cannot even say I would not act on it, but I would hope I could resist. I certainly would not be so reckless to do it every night, all over the castle.’

    ‘Oh, bugger off. It’s easy for you to say without being confronted with it. It’s probably been so long since you’ve had sex that you’ve forgotten how potent its temptations can be.’

    ‘On the contrary, Severus. I met a delightful gentleman at the Hog’s Head just last weekend, and let me tell you, I gave his Hog some wonderful Head, if I do say so myself.’

    With that, Bonky, Severus and Dumbledore all exploded into mirthful laughter. Snape and Bonky went their separate ways – though Bonky could be seen on many occasions trying to catch the professor’s eye. Snape kept his promise to Dumbledore that he would never Polyjuice without consent again – but kept his ‘stickles’ empty every night with the help of Jill Frigg. Chapter Eight – _Spells for Self-Love_ – made certain he could make himself orgasm a different way for every day of the year.

    Dumbledore had regular contact with the gentleman from the Hog’s Head, but he was not ready for a full commitment. Young at heart, and mind, he felt himself too young to settle down just yet.


End file.
